Blood and Ink
by bagelcat1
Summary: A tag of sorts to 11.17 Red Meat, Dean discovers something about Sam that he didn't know and the brothers think about what they mean to each other. (No slash) Rated T for a couple of curse words. Complete.


_**Author's Note: So, this is my second ever story. I'm not very happy with it, I don't feel like I captured Sam and Dean very well. I tend to get to a stage in my writing where the whole story feels pointless, but hopefully this will be enjoyable to someone. I always appreciate constructive criticism so if you see something that you think I could do better next time - please let me know. Sometimes you just have to take a leap and see what happens, so without further ado...**_

Dean shoved the werewolf's body off of himself. Sam stood on wobbly legs, gun still smoking in his hand. Relief washed over Dean, despite all the blood and the poor condition his little brother was in, Sam was there, in Dean's sight and that always made him feel just a little bit better.

"It took you long enough" Dean said, his voice too rough and raw from the choking to inflect the teasing smile into his tone. Leaning on his arm, he tried to catch his breath, his vision was still a bit spotty from the lack of airflow and the pain from his broken ribs which had flared up when Corbin had thrown him. Sam had somehow gotten his ass from the cabin, to the Urgent Care clinic just in time to save the day. How the friggin hell had he done that? Sam grunted, his face screwed up in pain and he slumped ungracefully down to the floor. Sam was panting in agony, his left hand curved protectively over his wound, the gun slid from his right hand. That spurred Dean into motion. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he dragged himself to his feet to go to his brother.

"Hey, hey Sam, how we doing? Dean knelt down and grabbed Sam's arm to help keep him from falling backwards. He looked up for the doctor, but she was just beginning to stir, still lying on the floor of the corridor beside the dead sheriff. Michelle was crouched, horrified and trembling, staring at her now dead, monster husband with wide, wet eyes but slowly she turned her gaze to meet Dean's.

"Michelle, I need you to go get some help." The dazed woman just looked at him. Sam groaned, and Dean could feel his body shaking under his hands. He slipped his arm around Sam to try and support him.

"Michelle!" Dean raised his shredded voice and the terrified woman startled but met his eyes again. Slowly getting to her feet she nodded and turned away from the gruesome scene in the hallway around the corner. Dean hoped she was searching for another doctor and not just fleeing the sight of the bloody bodies. Turning back to Sam, Dean cupped his hand on Sam's cheek. "Hey, stay with me Sammy!" He willed strength to his brother as Sam moaned and panted. Dean sensed movement beside him and he saw Dr. Kessler had woken up and was crawling over to them. The doc didn't look too good, but her eyes were clear and Dean could see the professional mask slide into place as she moved past the pools of blood that were puddling around the sheriff and the dead werewolf. Whatever she thought of what she had witnessed here could wait when she had a patient she could help.

"Dr. Kessler!" A nurse and an orderly came around the corner with Michelle in tow. They both stopped at the sight of the two bodies cooling on the floor, but the doctor waved them forward. "I need a gurney!"

The stocky man in scrubs turned and rushed back, on his way to fetch the stretcher. "Janice, prep the procedure room." The nurse also turned on her heel and brushed by the orderly who had returned with the gurney. Dean and the doctor helped Sam to his feet and onto the stretcher. Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder as they started to move. Dr. Kessler paused at one of the exam rooms and gently shoved Dean into it. "Stay here, I'll be back when I can." Dean ignored her and began to brush by in order to follow Sam down the hall, but the doctor's hand pressed harder against his chest, causing a spike of pain that made Dean hiss. "I mean it! Stay here so that I can focus on your brother." Her eyes and tone were firm so Dean backed down, but stayed in the doorway. The doctor saw Michelle slumped against the wall, and directed the exhausted woman into another exam room. "You too - stay!" she commanded before turning the corner after the orderly. Dean met Michelle's eyes briefly before she turned into her own room and shut the door.

With his brother getting the medical care that he needed, Dean started his own internal triage. His broken ribs were screaming, his throat felt swollen and sore, he was sweating and nauseated, and his head was starting to pound like a jackhammer. How much of this was from the pills he had swallowed or the Narcan they had injected into him to bring him back, he had no idea. But generally it sucked. Of course Sam probably felt a lot worse, but they would give him some blood to replace what he had lost and the good drugs as they were stitching him up. Dean was exhausted, but restless, pacing the little room. He turned on the tap in the little sink by the wall and washed Sam's blood of his hands. He stared at the pinkish water running down the drain before swallowing a few handfuls of fresh water and scooping some to splash on his face and neck. He'd give the doc half an hour before going in search of Sam. Sighing, he gingerly pulled himself onto the bed and tried to be patient, his worry pulsing like a second heartbeat making it hard to sit still. Ten minutes later he opened the door and stepped across the bloody hallway and into Michelle's exam room.

"Hey," Dean whispered quietly, both in deference to her obvious suffering and to the swelling that was squeezing his throat. The petite blonde sitting on the bed didn't answer, but turned her tear stained face towards him for a moment, before returning to staring at the floor. Dean desperately wanted to say something comforting, but there were no words. She had just seen the man she loved become a monster, commit horrible acts of violence and then die at her feet. In some ways he could relate. But what could he say that could make anything alright? What words could he use to even begin to tell her how sorry he was. He could see faint shivers wracking her small body, so he picked up an extra blanket from a nearby shelf and gently wrapped it over her shoulders.

"Not even a month," Michelle began in a voice so clogged with tears that Dean would have missed it if he hadn't been standing directly in front of her. "We got married only a couple of weeks ago and now I'm a w..widow," she choked on the last word, her sob shaking her thin shoulders under his hands. Looking up at him, her eyes were large pools of unfathomable grief. "It was supposed to be forever," she moaned before she buried her face in her hands. Dean stepped forward and gathered the small woman into his arms, letting her cry against his chest. He rubbed her back, but could provide no other comfort as she shook in his arms. At that moment the door pushed open and nurse Janice came into the room.

"Their still working on your brother," she said, responding to the urgent question in in his look. "Another doctor arrived and brought some supplies, so he's in good hands. Meanwhile," turning her attention towards Michelle, "let's get you lying down so that you can get some rest." Dean let go of the broken woman as the nurse tenderly and efficiently helped Michelle to lie back onto the bed. She deftly switched out the IV bag and injected something into the line. "This will help you sleep a little" she whispered as she tucked the blanket around her patient and turned off the overhead lighting. Janice cast a pointed glance at Dean who gave Michelle a parting squeeze on her arm and then quietly slipped out into the hallway.

Dr. Kessler came down the hallway. While Dean was in with Michelle someone had moved the bodies to the side of the hall and covered them with white sheets. The doctor pointedly looked away from the covered corpses and shook her head at Dean. "You really can't do what you're told, can you?" The doc took a hold of Dean's bicep and all but dragged him back into the exam room she had shoved him into earlier. She chivied him onto the bed with an impatient gesture, but her hands were gentle as she examined the finger shaped bruises on his neck.

"How's my brother Doc?," Dean's voice was like gravel with both worry and swelling pushing on his vocal cords.

She got an ice pack from the room's small fridge and placed it onto his neck, then moved her hands to check his ribs for new injury. She began taping them up, being careful to keep the broken bones in place. "Don't worry, your brother's in great hands. Turns out the sheriff had called in another doctor for a 'second opinion' after I refused to sedate you." Her finger quotes around the second opinion comment conveyed annoyance and frustration, but her tone said that she was relieved at the unexpected medical back-up. When Dean gave her a puzzled look she huffed a bit and continued as her hands worked. "My father was a doctor at the hospital in Lewiston for decades until he retired a couple of years ago, so Sheriff Anderson gave him a call and asked him to come by. Dad borrowed some blood and supplies that we don't usually have from St. Joseph on his way here. Luckily, this means that my father can help your brother now instead of transporting him to Lewiston by ambulance. Meanwhile I'm taking care of you and Michelle." With that, she shone a bright penlight into his eyes before he could jerk away. The light caused the pain in his head to flare from mind numbing to skull cracking. With a soft knock, nurse Janice popped her head into the room. "I've got the IVs you wanted."

"Whoa, I'm good, I don't need a fricken' IV," said Dean ready to jump down and go search for Sam. He didn't want to be tied to a bed with a drip line, but once again the doctor's surprisingly strong hand on his chest kept him from moving. He stayed sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You need these to counteract some of those drugs you took. You can't help Sam if you're still reeling from that overdose." She shook her head at him while Janice found an IV pole and sterile needle packages. Suddenly the doc seemed to lose her patience with Dean "Look, I don't know what the hell you were thinking when you swallowed those pills and I don't know what in God's name happened in that hallway, but I am trying to help you!" she spat at him grimly. Dean sighed and, mindful of his aching ribs and throbbing head, he eased himself farther back onto the bed. Sometimes the hunter forgot what a shock monsters were to civilians who lived their lives not knowing what went bump in the night. Dr. Kessler was just doing her job despite getting tossed around by a werewolf and trying to get her head around the unimaginable.

"I'll give you 20 minutes, but somebody better come let me know what's happening with my brother," Dean conceded grudgingly. The nurse expertly inserted the needles and hooked him up to the fluids.

"Keep that ice pack on your neck," Doc commanded, all the fight gone from her shoulders. "I'll be back to check on you and update you on Sam in a little bit," and with those words, she patted him kindly on the knee and then both she and the nurse swept out of the room.

Dean still felt itchy and restless, but the exhaustion and anxiety was beginning to take it's toll. He leaned back and let the cold sooth his neck. He wanted to close his eyes for a minute, but he knew that the second he did, he would see Sam, falling in almost slow motion as the bullet slammed into his stomach. Or Sam, dead on that cabin floor. Or Sam shaking with pain and blood loss as he slumped in the hallway just outside this door less than an hour ago. He ran an embarrassingly trembling hand over his face. The fear that had clenched his heart the second Sammy had been shot wasn't easing off. Sam had lost a lot of blood and God only knows what else could have happened to him. His brother could still die somewhere in this building. Just thinking the words made Dean's mouth go dry and his stomach heave.

He thought about what Michelle had said, about forever. If Sam had died there would be no seeing him in the afterlife. Billie had promised that this was it. And the idea of Sam being gone, forever - not even any chance of sharing an afterlife with his kid brother, had created an ache in his soul that he didn't think was ever going to heal. Sam was his other half, his better half. Sammy kept him human and watched out for him. Hell, just last week, Sam had held him steady as he recovered from his possession by the Soul Eater in that house in Grand Rapids. Sam was his brother, his friend, his partner and in some ways Dean tried not to explore too often, his kid. His world just didn't exist if Sam wasn't in it. Seeing Sam lying on that cabin floor, thinking his brother was gone for good, knowing that he hadn't even had a chance to tell Sam how proud he was of him and how much he loved him - it made his chest hurt. Dean's eyes were wet and a lump of emotion was aggravating his abused throat as he swallowed repeatedly to get his emotions under control.

Just when Dean had calmed himself a bit and was about to go in search of Sam, there was a soft knock on the door. Dr. Kessler poked her head around the frame. "Sam's going to be fine" she said without preamble as she walked into the room. "Your brother was lucky that the bullet didn't hit any organs or arteries. He lost a lot of blood, but luckily my dad brought some, so we've got his pressure stabilized. I've put him on some antibiotics to fight infection, but he should recover completely with some rest. You can see him now, but I'd like you both to stay overnight for observation," she finished. Ignoring the scowl on the doc's face as he pulled the IV lines out of his arms, Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had to keep one arm close to his taped ribs as he stepped onto the floor, but he needed to see Sam too badly to let a little pain stop him.

Dean silently slid into the quiet room. He let his eyes roam over Sam, happy to see the gentle rise and fall of his broad chest as he slept. Sam's eyes were closed, a faint line of tension marring his forehead, so faint that perhaps only a big brother would have recognized it. The long brown hair tangled on the pillow behind his head seemed darker than usual against the pale, clammy face and the white sheets. But, considering the blood loss, Dean supposed the pallor was to be expected. Sam had a number of needles in his arms giving him blood, fluids and a variety of pain meds and antibiotics, but Sam looked like he was sleeping relatively peacefully. Dean made his way to the chair beside the bed and lowered his aching body into it. He reached out and put his hand on Sam's wrist, careful of the tubes, but needing the comfort of his baby brother's pulse under his fingers. The ache in his heart loosened a bit as he stared at the sleeping man in front of him. For the first time since that gunshot, Dean felt like he could actually breathe again. He desperately wanted the younger man to wake up, to see his hazel eyes and know for sure that Sam was alive, but he didn't want to discourage the healing sleep he knew Sam needed. So, keeping his hand on his brother's arm, Dean settled into the uncomfortable chair to wait for Sam.

A soft sound woke Dean up. He hadn't intended to drift off, and his eyes immediately went to the bed. Sam was kicking his legs and moaning in his sleep, a familiar sign of a nightmare. Dean stood to move close and laid his hand on Sam's shoulder, hoping to quiet his brother as he had through so many nightmares in the past. It seemed to have worked because after a couple of minutes the younger Winchester stopped thrashing and settled back down. "That's it Sammy, go back to sleep," Dean murmured. Sam's kicking had shifted the sheet covering him as well as the too short hospital gown he had been put into. A mass of white bandages hid the ugly wound in Sam's torso, but the soft cotton gown and sheet had slid, exposing Sam's left hip and upper thigh. Any more movement and they would reveal more of Sam's body than Dean knew his modest brother would be comfortable with.

"Let's get you covered up now little brother...no need to scare Janice," Dean joked softly as he reached for the sheet to re-cover Sam's lower body. A stain of betadine was on the exposed hip bone, and Dean noticed an unfamiliar mark on Sam's body. Of course Dean had seen his brother naked before. Privacy had been an early casualty of the hunting life and it was hard not to see each other when they had spent most of their lives in close quarters, patching up injuries and dealing with illnesses. But Dean had never seen any sort of mark here on his brother before, so he let his curiosity loose and bent down to take a closer look.

The antiseptic they had liberally splashed on Sam had stained his hip a rusty red, otherwise the white tattoo would normally be almost impossible to see. It was a series of numbers, in very small but delicate script - the small size and clarity a testament to the skill of the artist. The numbers read 79012484. Sam made a soft sound in his sleep, so Dean quickly adjusted the gown and sheet over Sam's body and sat back into his chair. Before the older man had time to think much about the tattoo, he recognized the signs of his brother waking up. Sam smacked his lips, rocked his head side to side and scrunched up his face in the exact same way he had since he was a toddler. Dean smiled fondly and reached up to brush some stray strands of hair off of Sam's face. "That's it Sammy, open those big eyes of yours," Dean encouraged. As if at his request, Sam opened his hazel eyes and quickly found and focused on the face above him. A sudden flash of fear swept across Sam's face.

"Dean! Corbin's a werewolf!" Sam gasped, clutching at Dean's arms in panic.

"Relax Sammy, you already took care of it. You pulled out the hero card and saved my bacon in the nick of time." Dean put his hand on Sam's chest to calm the younger man down feeling the thundering beneath his palm. "The doctors just patched you up, so settle down before you bust a stitch."

With a sigh of relief, Sam laid back. Because his sleep was due mostly to blood loss and exhaustion instead of sedation, Sam shook off most of the fogginess, allowing his memories to come slowly back. Carefully aware of the throbbing pain still in his gut, Sam hitched himself up further in the bed to take a better look at Dean. His older brother was pale with a grey cast to his skin under his day old stubble. He was also slightly bent over, obviously favouring some damaged ribs, and Sam could see dark bruises blooming around his neck. "Dude, you look like crap."

"Well Sammy, it's been a very stressful day," Dean said truthfully. He had been trying to reassure his brother with his usual smart ass smirk, but his emotions were still too close to the surface for the intended sarcasm to come through. Instead Sam could see a mixture of love and fear and shame in Dean's green eyes. Apparently a lot had happened after he passed out in that cabin. Sam chose to forgo any questions right now. He was too happy and grateful to be alive and to feel Dean's hand resting on his arm and chest in an uncommon show of physical affection. Sam smiled and closed his eyes allowing himself to drift, knowing that Dean was there. He felt his brother's hand sweep tenderly his hair off his face as he began sliding back to sleep. Dean dragged his chair a little closer and cautiously sat down to watch over Sam. He pushed all his pain and fear and grief back down. For now, he was content to simply bask in the presence of his little brother now that he had seen with his own eyes that Sam was alive and on the mend. There would be time to talk with Sam when he had recovered.

After a little while a grey haired man knocked softly and came into the room, stirring Sam back to awareness. The man had a well used stethoscope around his neck but was wearing a wrinkled polo shirt instead of the usual lab coat. "Hi, I'm Dr. Frank Kessler, not to be confused with my daughter Dr. Irene Kessler." The doctor extended his hand first to Sam, then to Dean. "I just wanted to check on how you are doing son," he said to Sam. "You had a pretty close call." The man's soft blue eyes were kind and framed by deep set laugh lines that gave him a warm and trustworthy vibe. The doctor explained what he had done and discussed any possible problems or concerns.

"How's the other Doctor Kessler, Doc?," Dean asked as the older man proceeded to read Sam's monitors and peek at his wound.

"Oh Irene will be fine. Just a bump on the noggin...I told her she's lucky to be hard-headed like her old Dad," the man chuckled. He peered closely at Dean who quickly realized that his little drug overdose had been shared between the doctors. Rather than answer questions in front of Sam that he didn't yet have words for, he quickly excused himself. Shooting a glance at his brother, he gave Sam's arm a reassuring pat.

"I think I'll go check on Michelle and leave you to your doctor stuff," Dean said as he sidled towards the open door and made a break to the hallway.

Dean spent a restless night next to his brother. The nausea, sweating and trembling from the overdose had mostly eased, but the ache from his broken ribs and concussion ensured that Dean couldn't find a comfortable position to rest. The staff had kindly rolled in a spare bed into his brother's room so the Dean could keep an eye on Sam, but since the clinic didn't normally have patients overnight, the building was too quiet, which made Dean jumpy. The only other person in the building was Doc Kessler junior who came in to check on them once or twice overnight.

Dean was eager to put the horror of the past few days in his rearview mirror. He went out just after the day dawned grey and drizzly to get Sam some clothes. He had no idea how Sam had driven the car to the clinic in his condition. Someone had parked the car properly and brought the keys in for them. Normally the sight of his Baby was a source of comfort for Dean and he was looking forward to stealing a few moments of privacy within her so that he could try and put himself back together after everything that had happened. Instead the condition of the car almost brought Dean to his knees.

In the early morning light Dean could clearly see his brother's large hand print outlined in blood on the trunk of the car. He followed the bloody smear along the driver's side, saw the splotch on the driver's door handle and then with his stomach in knots, opened the door. Dean sucked in a shocked breath.

Blood was everywhere. The seat of the Impala was blotchy with pools of congealing blood. There were browning palm marks on the steering wheel. Blood had obviously trickled down Sam's leg as he drove to settle in a gummy puddle in the footwell. There were even sticky rivulets of blood on the tan leather of the inside door panel. It seemed impossible that Sam could have lost so much blood and still had the ability to stagger through the doors of the clinic, much less point a gun and save Dean's life. Once again Dean was awed by the strength his brother seemed to possess. Sam was the strongest person Dean knew. Still, as much as he was proud of Sam, it saddened him that his little brother had had to go through so much suffering to build that unyielding strength and capacity to deal with pain. Dean spent the next hour, scrubbing the worst of Sam's blood out of the upholstery of the car.

When Sam was dressed, dosed with pain medication, plied with post-care instructions and finally released, both Winchesters were eager to leave Grangeville. After initially deflecting Sam's questions with his usual smart ass comments, Dean hit the road, heading home toward the bunker. It didn't take very long for Baby's familiar rumble to lull Sam asleep. That was good, the poor kid needed to rest and recover from his ordeal. As Dean drove, he snuck frequent glances toward the passenger seat. Sam was wedged into his usual spot, head tilted towards the cool window, legs stretched out as much as possible. Even in sleep his hand rested carefully over the bandaged bullet wound. Looking at Sam, fear and shame seemed to swell again in Dean's gut. The image of Sam's still body in that cabin kept flitting across his memory and only seeing the soft rise and fall of Sam's chest could partially relieve his anxiety. He should never have left Sam there. He should have checked Corbin for bites before they untied the couple. Dean's ribs ached and his head pounded but he welcomed the pain. It kept him focused on his driving. And he deserved the bite of anguish caused by each breath as penance. Hell, he still didn't know exactly what had gone down at that cabin, but once he found a place to stop for the night and got Sam comfortable, he'd damn well ask. He also knew that he owed Sam a story of his own. They had promised each other that there would be no more secrets between them. He had evaded Sam's question with a joke at the beginning of their journey, but he knew that Sam hadn't bought his flippant response.

Dean had wanted to at least get out of Idaho, but he'd only driven about 6 hours when Dean had to admit that he was wrecked. His vision was starting to blur from the pain and lack of sleep, and neither he nor Sam had eaten anything in at least a day. Sam was still asleep, but he could tell by the fine lines that had crept between Sam's eyes that the pain meds had worn off. Dean pulled into a motel in Twin Falls that was a bit nicer than their usual dive. Sam deserved a comfortable bed and a bathroom that didn't smell of mold. Shutting the door carefully, Dean went into the lobby to check them in. When he returned the car, Sam was waking up. "Hey sleepyhead," he said gently to Sam. "Let's get you horizontal OK?"

Dean ran around to the passenger side to help Sam unfold his stiff and battered body. Sam bit back a groan, but couldn't hide his grimace of pain. Dean pulled his brother vertical, but didn't release his grip on his bicep as he eased them towards their room. The fact that Sam didn't shrug off his helping hand was a good indicator of just how much pain the younger man was in. They shuffled like old men to the door and once inside the room, Dean helped Sam to the bathroom and then collected their gear. He shook out a few of the painkillers and antibiotics and got a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. Setting them on the night table between the two beds, he looked up when the bathroom door opened. "You OK?," he asked.

"Just stiff mostly at this point, the pain is pretty bad, but I'll manage," Sam replied honestly. He hissed out a breath as he began to lower himself onto the bed.

"Dude, take it easy." Dean was there in a second and helped ease the taller man's long body onto the mattress. Reaching behind Sam's head, he propped up the pillows and adjusted them so that Sam partially recline against the headboard while still lying with most of his lower body flat. Then he crouched by the end of the bed and gently pulled Sam's boots off. The movement jostled his ribs, causing Dean to stifle a groan of his own. He hoped Sam hadn't noticed, but he could feel hazel eyes assessing him. Patting Sam's leg he stood up and pointed to the pills. "Hey, take those, you don't want to pain to get too bad."

Sam rolled his eyes "Yes Mom," but picked up the pills and downed them with a sip of water. Sam's eyes never left Dean and the eldest Winchester could tell that the "talk" he had avoided since they left the clinic was due. No matter how tired or hurting he was, like a dog with a bone, Sam would push to discover what had happened. This time Dean would give in. He felt too guilty not to, plus he had questions of his own. But he couldn't help stall just a bit longer.

"You hungry?," Dean asked. Sam simply shrugged. "How about I just order some pizza and we take it easy?" Not waiting for an answer, Dean picked up the small stack of takeout menus beside the room phone, picked one, dialed and placed his order. Putting down the phone, he sat on the other bed facing Sam. Looking up he saw that the younger Winchester hadn't been fooled by his delay tactics, but was patiently waiting with a mix of fear, pain and compassion in his weary eyes. Dean sighed tiredly, scrubbed hand down his face and tried to find the words.

Sam was tired, hungry and his gut was throbbing. He wanted a shower and to sleep for a few days. But he had to know what Dean had done. Sam loved his brother, but Dean didn't always think things through. Before he could relax and focus on regaining his strength, he needed to know. Was there some sort of crap rolling down on them? Had his brother done something rash? "Dean - what?!" Sam finally blurted.

"Sammy, I thought you were dead." Dean wasn't able to hide the grief in his voice or able to suppress the wobble in his voice. Saying it outloud seemed to make Dean's fear and pain more real.

"I know," Sam said calmly, waiting for more.

"How could you know what I thought?" Dean clutched at this slight conversational diversion.

"Come on," Sam laughed softly. "Either you thought I was dead and sucked it up enough to finish the job and get the vics to safety," Sam said logically, "or you knew I was alive but decided it would be more convenient to leave me behind to bleed out and die in the middle of nowhere with a pack of werewolves. Let's just say the second choice doesn't sound like the big brother I know, who's been taking care of me my whole life." He smiled at Dean fondly. "The question is Dean, what did you do when you thought I was dead?" Sam couldn't conceal the urgency in his voice.

Dean should have known he couldn't fool Sam. It was time to come clean. "I uh, talked to Billie." He kept his eyes on the ugly brown carpet. "She told me that you weren't dead." It was the truth, but Dean knew he had glossed over the overdosing on pills part of the story.

"Billie the reaper?," Sam asked. "But how did you…." Dean could see his brother's big brain put two and two together, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. "Dean," Sam breathed with new fear in his eyes, "what did you do. Did you make some kind of deal!"

"No," Dean said firmly eyes meeting Sam. "I just took some pills and then when she came, she did this freeze frame thing so that we could talk. She told me you were alive, threatened me a bit as usual, then she left."

"You took some pills!" Sam pushed himself up trying to move off the bed towards his brother. He knew that Dean had to have done something rash, but to swallow enough pills to call Billie essentially meant that his brother had committed suicide to draw the reaper. "How many pills? What did you take? Are you alright?" The questions rushed out of Sam as he struggled to get upright.

"Hey, sit back, you're going to hurt yourself Sam." Dean moved to the bed beside Sam, warm hands on his shoulders, easing the younger man back onto the pillows. "I'm fine, dude, it's OK. Michelle was with me and she got the Doc right away, I was only out for a minute or two before Doc Kessler brought me back." Sam's hands had come up to grip Dean's forearms.

"You were dead Dean! Dead! And if the doctor hadn't been able to get you back Billie would have reaped you and sent you to the Empty! How could you do that to me!" Sam was sickened and furious at the same time. "Do you have any idea how I would have felt if I had dragged my ass to the clinic only to find you dead?" He dropped his hands, clenched his jaw and turned his face away from Dean to try and hide the tears that had gathered. Sam half expected some stupid excuse or gruff denial, so he was surprised at the soft, apologetic tone in Dean's voice when he replied.

"I know Sammy, I know and I'm sorry." Dean reached out and took Sam's hand as he spoke. At this uncharacteristically girly gesture, Sam turned to look at Dean's face, but his brother had his eyes on their hands. Dean's voice was broken and plaintive. "I thought were gone Sam, that you had died and I wasn't even there. What was I supposed to do?" The question came out sounding like a sob. Dean looked up, green eyes sparkling with wetness meeting damp hazel ones.

Sam sighed, all the anger and frustration sliding away as he looked at his brother. Hadn't he, not even a year ago, released the Darkness, God's friggin' sister who was trying to destroy the world, all to save Dean from the Mark of Cain. Sam couldn't lie to himself. He knew that had the tables been turned and had he been in Dean's shoes, he would have done something similar. As much as his brain knew that their relentless drive to save each other was dangerous and unnatural, he couldn't let his brother go, no matter what the consequences. Ignoring Dean's question he patted his brother's hand which was still gripping his.

"Ok Dean, I get it. But what did she want? What was the cost?"

Dean pulled his hand back, almost as if he had just noticed what he had been doing. Despite the flush of embarrassment staining his cheeks, some of the tension sloughed off his shoulders. "Nothing. She wouldn't deal. I tried to get her to take me and save you, but no dice. She just wanted me to come with her. And then the Doc brought me back and that was it."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, he had almost lost his brother - again! "Dean, I understand why you tried to save me, but I can't do this, I can't be me, without you." Sam knew full well the kind of person he turned into when Dean was gone. And it scared him to his core. After Gabriel had killed Dean in Florida, Sam had hunted on his own for 6 months as a stone cold killer. He had even been willing to gamble Bobby's life. And then when Dean was in Hell, he had let Ruby turn him into a blood drinking freak who started the apocalypse. Even last year when the Mark had resurrected his brother as a damn demon, Sam had sunk to a whole new level of ruthless trying to track down Dean. When it came down to it, Sam knew that he wasn't a whole person without his brother. Dean was his other half, Dean kept him human and watched out for him. Hell, not that long ago Dean had walked into the Cage and taken on Lucifer himself in hand to hand combat just to rescue Sam. Dean was his brother, his best friend, his partner and in many ways his parent. He didn't want to exist in this world if Dean wasn't in it too.

The two men sat in silence, absorbed in the weight of what they had said and been through. Trying to accept that they were both alive and together, and that everything was Ok, at least for the moment. There was a knock on the door that shattered the solemn mood. Dean stood and peeked out the window. It was the pizza delivery guy.

By the time Dean had set up their meal beside Sam, opened a soda for each of them and settled beside his brother against the headboard, the mood had changed and he felt like a burden had been lifted. It seemed a good time to satisfy his curiosity. With a mouth full of partially chewed pizza, he bumped his brother's shoulder with his own and asked "So what exactly happened before you got to the clinic?"

Sam deconstructed his piece of pizza in his usual way before he answered. First he pulled off the various toppings and ate them, then he pulled up the cheese and ate that, then finally took a bite of the sauce covered crust. Once he had swallowed and wiped his fingers on a napkin, he responded. "Well, it's a bit fuzzy. I remember talking to Corbin when he suddenly grabbed me, and pushed me to the floor. He had his hand over my face and I couldn't breathe. I tried to push him off, but he was very strong. As he was choking me, I saw the bite mark on his arm…." Sam trailed off, pizza forgotten as he relived those terrible moments where he thought he was going to die. He shook that memory away, cleared his throat and continued. "The next thing I know, I wake up and it's morning. I was alone, but I heard a truck outside. I knew that the werewolves were out there so I went into the basement and hid." Sam knew he was glossing over a lot that he had experienced. The feel of his hands slick with hot blood, the pain of forcing himself to get to his feet, the agony of tumbling down the stairs and the torment of having to hold himself up to ambush the werewolf. But there was no point telling Dean the details just so that his big brother could torture himself for not being there. "I was able to kill the two wolves…" Dean cut him off.

"Two, you killed two werewolves while gut shot and suffocated?," Dean asked simultaneously horrified and deeply impressed.

"Yeah, it was the bouncer and the lady bartender from that place we went to. My guess is that she directed us to the cabins thinking the other members of their pack would take us out. Anyway, once I killed her and got the keys for their truck, I was able to drive it to the Impala. I didn't know where you were and I was afraid that if Corbin and Michelle had turned without you knowing, that they could get the jump on you." Again, Sam didn't bother to put into words the brain numbing anxiety he had felt in knowing that Dean could be dead or hurt while he was lying unconscious in that cabin. "Once I got to the car, I was able to get a bar on my phone, so I called you, but I wasn't sure how much you could hear, so I drove to the clinic. You know the rest." Sam finished and took a sip of his soda. The telling of his part of the hunt had taken a lot out of him but like lancing a boil, it felt better to share the harrowing ordeal with Dean. The older hunter has been strangely quiet through the rest of his story. Sam didn't know if his brother was thinking or had more questions, but for now, all that talking had burnt through what little energy he had, and he was just done. The pain pills had done their work, so he hunkered down a little lower into the comfortable mattress. "I'm pretty tired, so I think I'm going to get some sleep now," he said to Dean.

"Of course, let me get this stuff out of your way." Dean quickly move the pizza box to the other bed. He gently reached over and helped Sam remove his overshirt. Then he tugged the covers out from underneath the taller man and helped him gingerly settle down, adjusting the pillows so that he could in a comfortable position. It might only be a little after six, but Dean figured he could use some rest too. It was another 14 hours or so of driving to get back to the bunker. He turned off the bedside light that had been the room's only illumination and started to rise, when a long fingered hand lightly gripped his wrist. Sam's eyes were closed, but the request was clear. When he was younger and been frightened or sick, Sam had always wanted Dean nearby. With his free hand, Dean grabbed the pillows off the other bed and then sat back down beside his brother. He propped himself up a little against the headboard and listened to Sam's breath even out into sleep. Sam was alive and resting peacefully, the younger man had absolved him of his reckless decision, and he marvelled at exactly how badass his kid brother really was. Dean snuggled down a bit into his pillows, his head turned towards Sam and he felt the tension begin to leave his body as he drifted off.

Dean woke up to the morning light streaming through the cracks in the curtains. He had eventually moved to his own bed after getting up during the night to make sure Sam had his pain pills and to help his groggy brother to the bathroom. Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his hand messily through his hair. Judging by the sound, Sam was currently in the shower, the in room coffee pot was beginning to produce some much needed caffeine and in general Dean felt a lot better than yesterday. His ribs were still very tender and his throat wasn't 100%, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He stood and gathered some fresh clothes from his duffle. "Everything OK in there?," he called through the closed bathroom door. The shower shut off and he could hear Sam's muffled reply. A few minutes later Sam opened the door, shirtless, but freshly shaven with his wet hair combed.

"I need to put on a fresh dressing, then I might need your help getting my shirt on," Sam confessed.

"Yeah, of course Sammy. Lie back down for a minute. Let me jump in the shower and then I'll give you a hand." Reaching for his brother's arm, Dean maneuvered Sam back to the bed and lowered him down. "Stay!," he said with a grin, ignoring the bitchface he received from Sam. He quickly gathered his stuff and took his turn in the bathroom. A short while later he came out again, clean and dressed and feeling a little more human. He resisted the lure of the now finished coffee and instead pulled out the first aid supplies the clinic had sent with them. Sam was lying on the bed with his t-shirt draped over his torso while he watched some nature show on the room's TV. Dean sat beside him and carefully peeled back the bandages cover Sam's lower abdomen. The wound looked pretty good, no sign of infection or broken stitches, but the rusty stain of the antiseptic reminded Dean of what he had seen the previous day. As his hands worked applying a new dressing he glanced up at Sam.

"So, I noticed yesterday that you had a little ink done. When did that happen?" Dean tapped his brother's hip with the back of his hand. He was simply curious, so he was surprised when Sam flushed a deep red and kept his eyes studiously on the TV. Dean chuckled at bit at Sam's obvious discomfort. "Hey, I wasn't being pervy, I was actually protecting your modesty you know," Dean slapped his leg teasingly, finished what he was doing and repacked the medical supplies. Meanwhile, Sam pushed himself up and tried to put on his t-shirt. Dean snagged the shirt from his brother and tugged it over his head, manipulating each arm carefully into the sleeves like he had when Sam was a toddler. He then gripped Sam by his biceps and helped pull him carefully to his feet. Figuring that Sam wasn't going to reply and not wanting to give the younger man too much of a hard time, Dean turned and follow the siren call of the coffee. He poured himself a cup and took a satisfying slurp when he heard Sam's soft voice behind him.

"I got it done after Metatron. When you were…." he trailed off. "When you were with Crowley."

Dean suppressed a shudder. So what Sam didn't want to say was that he had gotten it done while his big brother was walking around with black eyes and a bad attitude. Not eager to follow that path, Dean feigned casual. "So, why in white?"

Sam's embarrassment had worn off a bit, and he sighed. "Cause it isn't for anyone else to see. That's why it's where it is." If Sam's voice was a little unsteady, both brothers were happy to ignore it. Dean avoided Sam's hazel eyes as he handed him a cup of coffee. He was puzzled, but he wanted to keep things light.

"Ok, I guess your hip isn't as girly as a lower back tramp stamp." Dean smirked. "I was just surprised, that's all." Not wanting to push his kid brother, Dean began moving around the room, packing up their stuff. The sooner they were on the road towards home, the better.

The sun was beginning its slow sink into the horizon. The car was warm and despite a couple of stops for food and gas they were making good time. Sam had been sleeping off and on, his pain meds making him drowsy and allowing him to stay in the passenger seat. Dean was considering whether to stop for the night again or if they could push through and get to the bunker when he saw that Sam was awake.

"Hey sleeping beauty, how you doing?

Sam shrugged, either not quite awake or too tired to respond to the teasing. Dean handed him a bottle of water from the seat beside him. "Are you feeling good enough to grab some dinner and then push on or do you wanna find a room and get horizontal for the night?" He could see the younger man consider his question, do an internal assessment and then make a decision.

"Let's keep going, I'd like to get back." Sam said stifling a yawn and clutching at his side as the movement pulled his stitches. "Unless you're too tired to drive?" It was both a question and an offer, but Dean was feeling OK and there was no way he would let Sam drive in his current state.

"Nah, I'm good Sammy, go back to sleep." Dean turned the music down a notch and returned his focus to his driving. After some long moments of silence, except for the music, he figured Sam had fallen back into dreamland.

"I got it on my hip so that everytime I put my hand it my pocket I remember," Sam said quietly, voice barely audible above the stereo and the engine's throaty rumble. It took Dean a minute to figure out what his brother was talking about but he remembered that they had never finished the conversation about the tattoo. The older man glanced over, but Sam's eyes were firmly focused on the window, blind to the scenery passing by. "When you were….gone, I realized that I was alone. Cas was really sick, maybe dying and I didn't know if I could find you, much less bring you back." Sam cleared his throat and tucked his hair behind his ear before continuing. "Even if I completed the ritual and cured you, I didn't know what would happen, or if you would still be you. And I realized that if I couldn't, if you were stuck a demon, that I might have to…." Sam's voice stuttered out as he choked over the emotion.

"Kill me," Dean finished softly.

Sam swallowed another sip of water and brushed the back of his hand roughly across his eyes. "Yeah. And that would mean that not only had I lost the only two people in my whole life who ever loved me unconditionally, but that I would have killed them both." Dean desperately wanted to contradict his brother, Jessica's death certainly wasn't his fault and there's no way he could have left Dean to run around as a God damned knight of hell. He opened his mouth to say so but Sam met his eyes and waved him off. "The point is, I got the tattoo of your birthdates so that I every time I put my hand in my pocket, I would remember what it felt like to be loved." Sam's voice broke on the last word and he turned back towards the window hiding his face from his older brother.

Dean's own eyes were blurry with unshed tears. His kid brother had felt so alone that he had gotten inked just to have something to hold on to. And what had Dean done? Tried to kill him with Death's scythe, left him alone to almost die from Amara's damn killer virus at that hospital. Then he had let the Darkness distract him while Sam got trapped in the fucking cage with Lucifer again! He had even let himself be tricked by the evil son of a bitch, leaving Sam at the devil's mercy while he was playing submarine. Yet less than 48 hours ago the friggin kid had saved his sorry life again and almost bled out in this very car doing it. Dean felt the oily churn of guilt deep in his gut and he eased the car over to the side of the road. Putting the car in park he reached over and pulled his weeping brother across the bench seat and into his arms. Sam muttered a muffled apology into the flannel of Dean's shirt. "I'm sorry." Sam took a shuddering breath as Dean ran a soothing hand over his back. "It's just been a rough few days."

"I know kiddo, I know," Dean said resting his cheek on the shaggy head tucked under his chin. "I'm sorry too." The sunset cast a warm orange glow, then turned to crimson and finally faded to the purple of dusk as the two Winchesters just sat and held each other. The life they lived was hard, but even if they didn't say it out loud, but they loved each other and needed each other. Right now they were alive and together and for today, that was enough.


End file.
